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“I think that sums it up,” I said, stifling a yawn as I finished dictating the last letter to Mrs. Finley.

“Great. Can I have my office back now?” Connor said, and he didn’t sound amused.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mumbled, turning on my own personal stalking app.

I frowned.

“Pull up the cameras for my office and start going back,” I said, not bothering to explain, as I trusted Connor to follow orders.

Technically, he didn’t work for me. I was a client, but I afforded him his own office since the custom work he was doing required a lot of time and he deserved his own space.

“Shit,” he said, and I watched the scene unfold in horror.

Men rushed inside, grabbing my wife, sticking her with a needle before picking her up and carrying her away.

No. NO. NO!

“Why weren’t we fucking alerted?”

“Someone overrode the system,” Connor answered, typing frantically on his tablet and shouting commands over his radio.

I ran down the hall, towards the stairs, and eventually, to the office I shared with Michaela.

But it was empty. Like I knew it would be.

I tried to walk inside, but I staggered.

Fuck. Oh fuck.

“Call everyone!” I shouted at Connor, and he nodded, already on it.

I was hardly aware of moving, but I found myself in front of the locked cabinet where I hid some of my artillery. Sure ODI was legit. But I knew violence. I grew up with it.

And before this, I liked to think I was prepared. As I opened the steel doors hiding my weapons, I grabbed guns, knives, and everything I could fit, strapping them on and nodding for Connor and his guys to help themselves.

As we headed to the cars waiting for us, I had one more call to make. But this one had to be from me.

Fuck. Someone was going to fucking pay for this.

After the Christmas party, I’d come to a temporary agreement with my father-in-law. He’d given me the usual warnings—threatened to cut my balls off if I hurt his daughter. And I told him the truth.

I never would knowingly hurt Michaela. It wasn’t possible. I loved her more than anything. She was my entire heart.

He wanted to talk business, but I told him we would talk after he learned to trust my intentions. ODI was mine and Michaela’s now. We were going to make it work.

Of course, I’d vowed to protect my wife. I would, of course. Always. I promised to give my life for hers anytime, anyplace.

But now I had to tell this man the unthinkable had happened.

“Adrik?”

“Yes?”

“Someone took her.”

“Are you tracking her?”

“Well,” I said, clearing my throat.

It wasn’t exactly the time to mince words, and since he asked.

“Yes. Her wedding ring has a tracking device installed.”

“Send me the coordinates. I will meet you there.”